


Five Years Later

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Community: slashfest, Fluff, Getting Together, HP: EWE, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-War, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-25
Updated: 2008-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco watch everyone move on around them after the war, but each of them is at loose ends. A chance meeting brings them back in contact with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Originally written for Slashfest @ LJ. The summary was also sesheta_66's original request.  
> Disclaimer: The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine. This story was written for fun, not profit.  
> Pairing: Harry/Draco (and others mentioned, including past Harry/Ginny)  
> Warnings: AU-ish. Slight DH spoilers (minus epilogue). Flangst. Mild fluff.

Once again, it turns out Professor Dumbledore was right. 

Draco Malfoy is no killer. 

For if he were a killer, he wouldn't think twice about hexing every single one of those blasted owls that keep circling over the Manor's grounds and acting as though they're really a pack of vultures instead. 

One wave of his wand and they'd tumble from the sky like overripe apples from a tree. 

But it's not in Draco's nature to kill.

Much to his father's dismay, he can't even bring himself to swat a spider. So the owls keep coming, swooping down through the open windows and the unused chimney, and delivering their missives, none of which are particularly welcome. 

Draco picks up a large envelope and sneers as he wonders who's after his money this time and for which purpose.

He soon discovers, however, that the contents of the fancy parchment aren't at all what he expected. 

_Miss Pansy Parkinson and Mister Gregory Goyle are delighted to announce their upcoming wedding and cordially invite you to join in the marriage celebrations._ 

Draco shakes his head. It's hard not to laugh, so he does. He just can't help himself, at least not until he almost starts to cry instead.

So much of his present situation feels twisted, _wrong_, and he can't for the life of him comprehend why everything must change so quickly either.

Only last month, Blaise Zabini got engaged too, to some French witch he met whilst on holiday in Italy. 

Yes, life certainly seems to be moving full speed ahead these days; at least for some people.

Since Draco hasn't the heart to be even remotely cruel to a stupid owl, he hands the still waiting bird a treat and then half-heartedly tells it to shove off. 

Before it takes flight, the owl hoots excitedly because the scrumptious biscuit it received more than compensates for the human's foul attitude. 

Draco slams the window shut. 'When will they finally get it?' he wonders with ever-growing irritation. Honestly, is it _that_ difficult a concept to grasp?

Draco Malfoy doesn't do parties or social occasions. Not anymore. 

Though he will need to go out later, albeit not by choice. 

His father requires something from the Gringotts' family vault; his father, who's in France and has been for the better part of the past four years. 

Perhaps Draco should have moved there too; such was the original plan, at any rate, but instead he decided to stay here. 

Wiltshire has always been his home, and besides, he had no reason to run. 

Though one could argue that he does _hide_. 

He's been living the life of a recluse these past few years. He never leaves the grounds, not unless he absolutely has to, and he buries himself in books. He's gone through the vast Manor library already and every month, he orders a new batch of reading material to keep his mind sharp and occupied. 

But today he can't stay in and read. He has a pressing appointment in London. 

Draco sighs in resignation and finally goes to fetch his cloak; he'd best get this over with. 

  
***

  
On his way up the steps of the stately Gringotts' building, Harry barely manages to avoid squarely bumping into someone.

"Potter," the tall, thin and surprisingly familiar man says, but his utterance of Harry's last name carries none of the malice it once did. It's merely an acknowledgment this time, nothing more. 

"Malfoy," Harry greets him in a similar, offhanded manner and can't help but ask, "What are you doing here?" 

"I have some financial matters to attend to," Draco replies. His tone remains polite and neutral even as he states the glaringly obvious. 

"Oh," Harry says dumbly and then continues, because he feels he has to say _something_; it simply won't do to remain standing there like some speechless fool. "Well, I came to fetch one of my mother's necklaces. We're going to auction it off for charity, with proceeds going to that new orphanage in South London, you know. Actually, it was all Hermione's idea; er— the auction, I mean." 

"I see," Draco replies, and Harry realises full well that what the man's not saying could be either 'How interesting' or 'Sweet Merlin, Potter, must you rabbit on so?' 

Still, even if it is the latter, Harry finds himself unable to keep quiet. "Of course," he continues, "I could have just donated the money instead, but an auction is a lot more fun and tends to draw in the punters and we get some free publicity thrown in too. Besides, all that stuff is just lying in the vault and gathering dust anyway. I have no use for it, personally, so it's much better if it goes to a worthy cause." 

"Indeed," Draco replies. His expression remains unreadable, though for the briefest of moments, Harry's almost certain he can see a hint of amusement flicker over the man's face; just for a millisecond, and then it's gone again. 

"Right, er—" Harry says. "I'd best er— get on with it, then." 

"Quite. Goodbye, Potter," Draco replies and heads into the bank. 

"Bye," Harry mutters to Malfoy's retreating back. 

He considers that it's quite strange to be on well… not exactly _amicable_ terms with the man, but the fact that there was no hostility between them as they spoke is odd enough in itself, though not necessarily unpleasant.

Harry finds himself pondering what Malfoy is up to these days. He heard Lucius and Narcissa went to France for political reasons; or not to put too fine a point on it, they supposedly fled the country for fear of persecution and eventual imprisonment. 

Not that they really had anything to worry about, as far as Harry could tell. They chose the right side in the end and the Ministry had far bigger fish to fry. 

Now that he stops to consider it, Harry is rather surprised that Draco hasn't yet tried his hand at a political career himself, or at least isn't throwing lots of money around to get his family back into everyone's good books. 

That's probably what Lucius would have done in a similar position, and his father before him.

Draco, on the other hand, has pretty much vanished from the scene. 

He never shows up at Hogwarts reunions or weddings of mutual acquaintances, either. Isn't he interested in such things anymore?

Harry hasn't a clue, but the fact remains that Draco Malfoy, who always loved to be at the centre of attention before, has become something of a hermit since the war. 

'He's all right, isn't he?' Harry suddenly finds himself wondering, and then he shakes his head in part humour, part puzzlement, and wills himself back to the present. 

God, he must be really bored or desperate— or possibly both— if he's spending time worrying about Draco Malfoy. 

  
***

  
Draco shoves his hands in his pockets and lets out a long, weary sigh.

The visit to the bank was tedious as always; stupid goblins and their countless forms and pointless red tape. 

His throat is sore from talking too, and that does nothing to alleviate his rotten mood. 

He's not much of a conversationalist anymore these days and truth be told, he doesn't actually miss the interaction. 

Most people have nothing to say that he wants to hear, and there isn't much about himself that he wishes to share with others. 

That part of his life is over and done with.

Frowning, he stops dead in his tracks as he recognizes the small coffee shop in front of him.

"Catriona's Cosy Corner."

He remembers the place well. He used to come here with his mum years ago. 

They served the best coffee back then, exclusive Brazilian blends, and had excellent cake on their menu too. 

Draco's mood brightens considerably. 

Perhaps a hot drink before he returns home would be nice; and a slice of delicious hot apple pie as well. He has certainly deserved it after that nonsense with the goblins.

When he walks into the cosy little establishment and inhales the welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee, he's quite surprised to spot a familiar face at a table at the back of the room.

However, that surprise is nothing compared to the astonishment Draco feels when Harry Potter suddenly beckons him over. 

  
***

  
Harry doesn't know what drives him to do it, really. 

He supposes that he can blame his impulsive action on loneliness and the fact that he's been feeling quite lost and restless lately. 

He rarely talks to anyone these days, unless there's some business venture or charity function to be discussed. 

It's been that way ever since Ron and Hermione got married, which, against everyone's expectations, wasn't to one another.

They proved to be incompatible in the end, but luckily their break-up was an amicable one. 

Not long thereafter, Ron got back together with Lavender, and Hermione surprised everyone by hooking up with Theodore Nott.

A few months after the war, Nott revealed himself to be a spy; one of the best, no less, and it's funny, Harry considers, how in hindsight, those Slytherins make as little sense today as they ever did. 

And that definitely goes for Malfoy as well; Malfoy, who's now sauntering towards him, one eyebrow raised in what could be either amusement or challenge. At this point, Harry can't really tell which, but he supposes that it'll become clear soon enough.

  
***

  
"Did you want something, Potter?" Draco asks, his confusion more than evident in his voice. 

Harry hesitates a beat before replying, "Er, yeah. Would you like to join me?" 

"Join you," Draco repeats slowly, with a frown. He studies Harry's face for any signs of an ulterior motive, but when he can detect none, he finally nods and takes the chair opposite. 

The waitress saves both men from an awkward silence as she brings Draco's coffee and apple pie. "Here you are, Sir. Enjoy!" 

"Thank you. I don't doubt that I shall." 

"Good choice," Harry says, eyeing Draco's plate approvingly when the woman has left again. 

"Don't act so surprised, Potter," Draco retorts with a superior smirk. "Honestly, have you ever known my taste to be anything less than impeccable?" 

Harry shakes his head and smiles. He doesn't quite understand why he suddenly finds Malfoy's haughty attitude amusing, possibly even endearing. It always used to drive him up the wall before. 

Perhaps his solitude has finally started playing tricks on him. 

"So what brings you to London?" Harry asks. He realises full well that it's a silly question, and one that he has already received the answer to, but then he has to say something, doesn't he? And something along the lines of 'So what are you up to these days?' or 'In what line of business are you?' definitely wouldn't be an option, because then he'd have to relate to Draco the tales of his own accomplishments too; even though 'accomplishments' isn't exactly the word he's looking for in this case. 

_"Oh, I defeated Voldemort, as you know, and while you were being privately tutored, I finished my seventh year at Hogwarts and then sort of… hung about for the next couple of years. I still haven't a clue what I would like to do now, if you really must know. My crappy eyesight prevented me from becoming an Auror, and the Ministry weren't terribly keen on my history of accidental magic either, so…"_

Harry almost shudders at the prospect; and it could be even worse still. Malfoy could ask him about Ginny. 

Not that Ginny is a painful topic per se. When she and Harry ended their relationship, it was a mutual decision. The two of them parted as friends, and Ginny's happily married to Neville now, but still—

No job, no marriage, and no worldly ambitions to speak of. It would be an understatement to say that Harry hasn't exactly found his place in life yet. 

Perhaps, all things considered, inviting Malfoy over wasn't the best idea he's ever had. Incidentally, were the man's eyes always this fascinating before? 

"Father required something from the vault," comes the simple response.

"Do you go to London often?" Harry goes on to ask, and almost cringes at the tackiness of that question. He's nothing short of stunned when the man sitting across from him doesn't take the bait, but instead replies with a small smile, "I mostly stay at the Manor these days. It's quiet and peaceful there; just three cats, Rinfy the House-Elf and myself."

"Oh," Harry says, feeling quite relieved all of a sudden. So there won't be any rivalry or ego clashes here today then, not even of the unspoken kind. 

"How about you, Potter?" Draco's interest is genuine. 

"Er— sort of the same. Well, that is, I'm staying at Grimmauld Place with Kreacher. No cats there, though."

"Oh, but you should get yourself a cat, Potter," Draco says. "Cats are intelligent, noble and adventurous creatures. They lead their own lives, make their own rules, don't take crap from anyone and they definitely know how to live."

Harry smiles, picturing Crookshanks' antics and overall attitude. "Yeah," he replies, "I suppose they do."

  
***

  
Two uneventful weeks pass and somehow, Draco can't stop the thoughts of his impromptu meeting with Harry Potter from popping up constantly. 

Their conversation was surprisingly pleasant and not at all as awkward as it might have been. Or is that merely Draco's impression because he hadn't talked to anyone in so long and had missed it more than he was willing to admit? 

Then again, Potter was unbelievably witty and entertaining. Not to mention that he's filled out nicely since school and has finally learned how to dress properly too, which is definitely a bonus. 

With a scoff, Draco shakes his head. 

No, this won't do. 

He's spent years thinking about Harry Potter, in not exactly the nicest of ways. 

The last thing he needs now would be to start developing some silly crush on the man. Honestly, the very concept is ludicrous. 

Not to mention, how would his father react? 

Of course, Draco considers, Lucius isn't anywhere in the immediate vicinity at the moment, and besides, how would the man even find out in the first place? The first British wizarding paper has yet to be delivered to the remote French village he's staying in. 

  
***

  
Hermione shakes her head. "I can't believe you're happy like this, Harry," she says, her voice laced with concern, "spending all that time by yourself."

Harry shrugs. "It's fine. I like my own company."

She ignores that, as she usually does, and continues unfazed, "If you wanted to date, I'm certain that there are plenty of witches _and_ wizards who'd be only too willing to—"

"We've been through this so many times already, Hermione," Harry cuts her off. "You of all people should know that most of them are only interested in my fame, or my parents' money."

She sighs, but before she can protest, Theodore Nott interjects, "Harry has a point, you know, darling. Most people these days _are_ quite shallow. You wouldn't want him to end up with someone who only wants to show off or take advantage, would you?"

Hermione rolls her eyes. "The war has been over for _five years_ now, Theo," she points out, "and not all people care about such things. I don't; you don't: Ronald doesn't… There are plenty of genuine and trustworthy people out there as well, and Harry's only shooting himself in the foot by being so cautious. He should join the public scene more often; live a little and enjoy himself. None of us will be young forever, you know." 

"I'm sure you're right, darling," Theodore says. He raises a conspiratorial eyebrow at Harry and Harry has to stop himself from chuckling. 

Unlike Ron, Theodore Nott never takes the bait, and whenever Hermione goes off on a tangent (something that occurs less often now than it used to, but still frequently enough to be irksome), he simply lets her until she's got it completely out of her system. 

Maybe that's why this union does work, Harry decides. That and also the fact that Nott is intelligent, well-spoken and even-tempered; pretty easy to get along with too, especially for a Pureblood who was a Slytherin once.

No, Harry finds that he can't really say anything against the bloke. 

Still, the fact remains that Harry isn't interested in any of the people Hermione is trying to set him up with.

Despite her best intentions, he already knows with an eerie certainty that it'll all be about hero worship again, with some unwanted press attention thrown in just for good measure. After all, everyone's interested in The Boy Who Lived.

No one cares about Harry himself. No one outside his immediate circle of friends has shown him any genuine interest since the war… 

No one except—

No, Harry decides, Draco Malfoy should hardly be taken into account, even if he has grown up to be rather charming, unexpectedly likable and frankly, for lack of a more fitting term, drop dead gorgeous to boot.

But nonetheless… 

No matter how much Malfoy has clearly changed since they were both at school, the idea of Harry dating him remains plain ridiculous, and besides, Harry has more important stuff to focus on. There'll still be plenty of time for romance later.

Or that's the theory Harry wishes to uphold anyway. 

  
***

  
On the third day of the fourth week, an unfamiliar owl flies into the elegant dining room. 

It's grey and tiny, and Draco barely sees it at first as it bravely makes its way past all the others. 

He does notice the parchment that falls on his plate, however, and its sloppily scribbled words make him smile like he hasn't smiled in a long while. 

_  
~~Malfoy~~ Draco, _

_I'll be in London next Tuesday. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to have coffee then? And there's this new bookstore Hermione mentioned too. It just opened yesterday. You told me you like to read. Maybe we could go there together and check it out?_

_Let me know._

_Cordially,   
Harry Potter._ 

  
For the briefest of moments, Draco hesitates. This is still _the_ Harry Potter, after all, and surely years of childhood rivalry couldn't have been wiped out in a single afternoon? 

But then, they were on the same side in the end, saved each other's lives even, and they've both done a lot of growing up since Hogwarts. 

And besides, what has he got to lose? 

He picks up his quill and begins to write, and when the owl flies off a few moments later, it suddenly occurs to Draco that for the first time in absolutely ages, he's actually looking forward to something. 

  
***

  
Draco watches him through the window, fiddling with his napkin, and he thinks that it's quite reassuring to see that at least he's not the only one who's nervous about this meeting. 

He takes a deep breath and walks into the coffee shop, hoping that his front of confidence is still as convincing as it was ten years ago.

"Hello Potter," he says and sits down. "I'm not too late, am I?" 

"No, er—I'm probably early," Harry admits with a sheepish grin. 

"All right then," Draco says. "So, have you ordered yet?" 

"Yeah," Harry replies and then adds enthusiastically, "They've got chocolate fudge cake on the menu today. You have to try it. It's totally brilliant."

His smile is contagious and reminds Draco of a child at Christmas. 

  
***

  
It's inevitable that sooner rather than later, the more difficult topics surface; like marriage, for instance, and whatever happened to Draco's fiancée. 

Harry heard through the grapevine that the man was betrothed to a girl called Celeste at one point, but that was years ago. 

With an ease that surprises them both, Draco says flatly that he has no romantic feelings towards the fairer sex, hence marrying a girl would have been hypocritical and he didn't wish to lead a life based on lies. 

"Father was disappointed initially, of course, but he got over it. Besides," he adds with a smile, "he can scream and shout all he wants in his chateau. No skin off my nose." 

Harry doesn't say a word and sadly, Draco mistakes his stunned silence for disgust. 

"I'm sorry if that information makes you uncomfortable, Potter," he says quickly, wondering whether he went too far. After all, this is just supposed to be afternoon tea, not a session of 'Up Close And Personal' with Rita Skeeter. "But you did ask, and I see no reason to be ashamed of who or what I am." 

_Not anymore,_ he adds in his mind, but decides not to say that aloud. 

Harry quickly shakes his head. "No," he says urgently. "That- That's not it all. The thing is, during the war… I mean, I'm just baffled by what you said, because you see, I'm attracted to blokes too. Well, to some of them anyway—" his voice drops to a whisper, "—I used to have quite a crush on Viktor Krum, actually." 

"Yes, well," Draco says dismissively, "didn't we all?" 

Harry bursts out laughing and just like that, all the awkward tension between them vanishes into thin air. 

  
***

  
Harry and Draco never make it to the bookstore in the end. They're too caught up in their pleasant conversation as many hours fly by unnoticed. 

Perhaps later on, they'll both wonder once again why it is that they hit it off so well now, considering their volatile history. 

Or perhaps they won't, because all of this feels completely natural and right, and questioning or trying to analyze the how and why might just jinx things. 

The waitress shuffles her feet awkwardly, clears her throat and hesitantly approaches the only table in the room that's still occupied. 

"Pardon me, Sirs," she says, "but I'm afraid we'd like to close for today." 

They usually shut the entrance door at around six o'clock, about the same time as the surrounding shops do. 

A glance at his watch tells Harry that it's ten past seven. 

He finds it a real shame to have to leave already, but there's always tomorrow. 

They're planning to visit that bookstore then and to have dinner at an Italian restaurant, and although neither of them has explicitly said so, it'll definitely be a date; hopefully the first of many.

"Well, then," Draco says with a smile as they both stand outside the coffee shop. "I'll see you here again tomorrow afternoon, Po— _Harry_." 

"Yeah. All right," Harry says. He smiles back, and in that very moment, he's quite certain that he ought to get moving soon, start walking _now_, _leave_, rather than remain rooted to the spot like a love-struck fool, but his legs feel like lead and he can't move a muscle. 

Draco's grey eyes are mesmerising him; their piercing gaze is drawing him in. 

Harry swallows hard, and then as though by their own accord, his feet take two steps forward and before he fully realizes what he's doing, he's kissing Draco Malfoy (and he's generally not this forward either - not at all; in the past, he always left it up to the other person to make the first move), but before he can wonder about, let alone regret the impulsive nature of his actions, Draco is kissing him back and it's the most wonderful feeling in the world; it's both exciting and soothing and it fills Harry with a sense of belonging that he hasn't experienced in a long time. 

Somewhere in a nearby distance, a camera snaps; one, twice, three times. 

Harry predicts that photographs of Draco and himself will be plastered all over the front page of The Daily Prophet tomorrow morning, but truthfully, he can't bring himself to care. 

And from the way Draco keeps right on kissing him and ostentatiously ignoring the indiscreet bugger taking those pictures, Harry doesn't suppose that he's all that bothered by the prospect either.


End file.
